Part 2: The Mistress Shoved His Pregnant Wife Down the Courthouse Stairs, Never Knowing the Lawyer Who Caught Her Was the Brother She Had Buried on Paper

Across town, in the penthouse on Commonwealth Avenue that Graham had bought with my stolen inheritance, Vivian Sterling paced the Persian rug, her heels digging deep into the fibers.

Her phone wouldn't stop ringing. Her bank manager, her manicurist, the caterer for next week's charity gala—everyone was calling about bounced checks and declined wire transfers.

"Pick up, Graham! Pick up the damn phone!" she shrieked, slamming her glass of white wine onto the marble kitchen island. The crystal shattered, splashing pale liquid across a stack of unopened mail.

The front door clicked open. Graham stumbled into the foyer, his tie undone, his tailored jacket looking rumpled and limp.

"Where have you been?!" Vivian yelled, marching toward him. "The card at Bergdorf's got declined! My Amex Black card! In front of Caroline and the senator's wife! Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"

Graham looked at her, his face pale, his eyes hollow. "He's alive, Vivian."

Vivian stopped dead in her tracks. The anger evaporated from her features, replaced by a cold, sickening terror. "What did you say?"

"Elias Vance. The brother you swore died in that fishing boat explosion in Bar Harbor. He was standing in Lena’s hospital room. He's a partner at Montgomery & Cross." Graham grabbed her by the upper arms, his fingers digging into her silk blouse. "You told me the trust was closed! You told me all the legal angles were scrubbed! Why the hell did a federal judge just freeze every dime in Apex Holdings?!"

"Let go of me!" Vivian shoved him off, backing away toward the living room windows overlooking the Boston skyline. Her chest heaved. "That's... that's impossible. I saw the maritime report! The coroner signed the presumptive death certificate!"

"Well, he’s not dead!" Graham roared. "He held my wrist until the bone almost snapped! He looked into my face, Vivian! He knows about the shell companies. He knows about the offshore transfer to the Cayman trust in your maiden name. He knows everything!"

Vivian pressed her hands to her temples, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "Calm down. Just shut up and think. He doesn't have the original signatures. I shredded the physical deeds four years ago. It’s his word against ours!"

"He has Judge Walker," Graham countered, his voice cracking with desperation. "Walker doesn't sign federal freeze orders on a hunch. And that's not the worst of it."

Vivian stared at him. "What else?"

"The courthouse stairs," Graham whispered, swallowing hard. "The police were at the hospital when I left. They’re reviewing the security footage. If they see you push her..."

"There were no cameras on that landing!" Vivian snapped, her voice rising in shrill defense. "I checked before we even went up! The dome camera on the west corridor has a blind spot right by the handrail!"

Graham stared at her, horrified. "You checked? You planned to push her?"

Vivian sneered, the polished socialite veneer peeling away completely. "She was never going to sign that agreement, Graham! She was going to drag this through discovery, and discovery means forensic accounting! If an auditor looked at our books for ten seconds, we’d both be facing twenty years in federal prison! I did what had to be done to save us!"

Before Graham could reply, the heavy brass knocker on the penthouse door sounded three times. Heavy. Authoritative.

Graham and Vivian both froze.